The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) Read Free Page B

Augustine.
    â€œI’m going nowhere.”
    â€œAnd I say you should make ready.”
    Appetite fully awake in the nipping mountain air, Augustine strolled homeward for lunch and an afternoon of meditation. Here and there the faces of children were vivid and startling as flowers. Augustine stopped to look into the eyes of a radiant little girl. With his cane he drew a circle round her beauty. He was moving on when he heard Don Antonio calling to him from the church.
    â€œA word with you,” said Don Antonio, coming down. “I’ve been watching you, my friend. I’m beginning to see the color in your face again. You were so thin and pale when you returned.”
    â€œIt was a ghost you saw,” said Augustine.
    â€œIt’s good to have you home,” said Don Antonio. “You’ll share a fine harvest with us. It will be better than last year. And next year, we pray, will be even better.”
    â€œDon Antonio, this is my home,” said Augustine. “I left here and the people were eating bread and pasta. They’re still eating bread and pasta. You talk of progress, Don Antonio?”
    â€œIt’s you who talk of progress,” said Don Antonio. “I would say there is no progress but in the realm of the spirit.”
    â€œAnd so there is no progress?”
    â€œYou’re teasing,” said Don Antonio.
    â€œA man’s diet affects his spirit,” said Augustine. “Beans and pasta did a serious thing to me, I’m sure of it.”
    â€œCome, come,” said Don Antonio.
    â€œI find it impossible to soar, as I used to.”
    â€œI’ll tell you a secret,” said Don Antonio. “Nothing is sweeter than sacrifice.”
    â€œThe secret is safe with me,” said Augustine.
    â€œI see you must have laughter,” said Don Antonio. “Will you be going back to America then?”
    â€œOnce more perhaps,” said Augustine. “I miss my home when I’m there and now I miss this America. I may take my nephew and then I’ll return for good.”
    â€œYour nephew, your nephew,” said Don Antonio, clasping his hands in delight. “Who can resist him?”
    â€œA fine young man,” said Augustine.
    â€œHe used to sing in church when he was a boy. One day he was singing higher and higher. ‘There it is,’ I was saying. And then he went higher. The others stopped singing. I was looking the other way. I pretended not to listen.”
    â€œHe’s like a light in the house.”
    â€œIt will be a great loss for your mother. How is she then?”
    â€œShe was praying for me to come home,” said Augustine. “And now she’s praying for me to take Cennino away.”
    Augustine was right. One hope Rosa had and it was to get her grandson started in a new life in America. Day and night she argued with Augustine. Thwarted, she put her hands to her temples as though something had caved in on her.
    â€œEveryone talks of going,” she said, spitefully.
    â€œBut it’s not what you think,” said Augustine.
    â€œNor is it what you say,” said Rosa. “You sing in the square and with me you talk out of the corner of the mouth. Is it true that hundreds are going from Naples each month? Did you see them in America? How do they fare?”
    â€œDropping to the left and right as though shot down. There was one who became a sailor. He was going back and forth and in the end he chose the sea. The world outside,” said Augustine, pointing to the west.
    â€œListen then,” said Rosa. “Let me tell you about this Cennino. You left a boy here and found a man past twenty. I’ll tell you about that boy before you lose him. He did everything for me. He plowed and planted and brought in the grain. He took care of the cow and the pigs. He helped to put up ham and cheese and lard against the winter. And then one year I was sick. Three months in bed with a stiff back. I